


O' Sailor, Why'd You Do It?

by alexa_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8.19 missing scene, Barebacking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Purgatory, Rimming, Unrequited Love, emo-porn, season 8 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 12:56:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/748747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexa_dean/pseuds/alexa_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean holds on just a little longer, a little tighter and kisses him with a taste of forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O' Sailor, Why'd You Do It?

They meet up in private on the outskirts of the city; twilight breaking apart in the light. No sooner does Benny slip out of his truck, then Dean falls to his knees in front of him. Dean’s hands tremble as they open Benny’s coat, curl over his waistband, Dean’s mouth opening over the vampire’s navel, breathing heat and need and gratitude into his skin. 

 _“Hey,”_ Benny drawls, “No need for this, man—“ 

Dean’s knees sing with pain, but it’s the least of his worries when his mouth is closing on Benny’s flushed red cock through his briefs. Tasting damp and salt and blood-soaked memories. 

Benny’s grip is a strong, reassuring pressure on Dean’s shoulders. And Dean sucks on the cotton, the taste of Benny peeking through the fibers. But there isn’t enough time and Dean should be hurrying, but this isn’t about payment or even gratitude. 

This is Dean wanting to give Benny what he wants, yet unable to. Because it has nothing to do with sex, but everything to do with a heart that has always been Sam’s and never for Dean to give to anyone. But if Dean had a choice –- he needs Benny to know this -- things might’ve been different. It could’ve been Benny’s. 

“Dean, _don’t—_ “ 

Dean swallows him deep in his throat, his tongue skipping along the silken head, the length of his shaft, until coarse hair catches on Dean’s stubble and he looks up to see Benny looking down at him, mouth open like he’s drowning, like there isn’t enough air in the world when Dean is in his space. 

The vampire’s hands come up to cradle Dean’s head, pulling him off gently and guiding Dean up to stand, his palm closing over Dean’s crooked neck to take him in a frantic kiss, tongues clashing together like hoplites in battle. Dean shrugs off his coat, lets it drop on the ground, maneuvers them around the truck’s open door and pausing only to tear at his shirt and throw it onto the leather seat.

Dean can see the horizon swimming in Benny’s eyes and there is no question between them, because Benny shouldn’t have to ask. Dean kicks off his shoes, unzips his jeans, unable to let go of Benny’s tongue, sucking greedily at it. 

Benny kisses the spur of Dean’s collarbone as Dean’s jeans fall to the ground, Benny’s peacoat scratching Dean’s bare chest, rough wool against his nipples. Mouth open wider to touch his teeth to Dean’s skin, more promise than threat. Dean turns, crawls onto the bench seat and offers his ass to Benny. 

Strong, broad hands cover Dean’s hips and haul him nearly to his knees. He feels the sting of Benny’s beard before the pressure of Benny’s mouth on him, inside him, stubble scraping Dean’s skin. And it’s good, so good, has never been otherwise, if not for the guilt of this, the shame of it. Or maybe because of it. 

Dean is sobbing into the cradle of his arms, pushing back into Benny’s face, spearing himself on his tongue. Mouth open to catch his own tears and the sweat on his arms. Dean doesn’t deserve this. What Benny gives so freely and easily and Dean’s never had that. Never had to give anything in return with Benny. 

Dean chokes and moans in his throat, hands on the opposite door to hold onto, because Benny is just that strong, that intent on opening Dean up in more ways than one, panting right into the humid darkness inside Dean. Benny’s nose pressed to the tip of his spine as he works his mouth, jaw muscles shifting against Dean’s skin. Tears cling to Dean’s lashes, blur his vision as he looks between his legs to the broad shape of Benny’s chest behind him. 

He leaks onto his shirt in silvery threads, dick bobbing in the wind and dark as the heart of an apricot, Benny’s spit filling him like sap, chapped lips catching on his rim. Benny’s fingers slide easily into him, sticky sweet pressure that has Dean groaning his name. 

Dean wants more time, just a little more time with Benny. Needs it; but has only enough to lose.

“Please,” he cries out, “please, I need you, c’mon, man.” His vision swims, catching the dawn, his tears refracting like crystals. 

“Hey, I gotcha, chief,” he drawls and rubs a callused thumb over Dean’s opening, “Just turn over so I can see you.”

Except Dean can’t, at least not right away, doesn’t want Benny to see him like this-- afraid to lose Benny to fate, because all Dean has ever brought to anyone is pain or death. He doesn’t need to scare Benny too. 

Dean settles on his back, Benny rising above him between his legs and Dean memorizing him, his body: the honey amber hair of his chest peeking over his shirt. The way his cover shades his eyes and the smell of tree bark and black soil that clings to his coat; these things Dean takes for himself, into his skin. 

There isn’t much room, but they make it work, Dean unzipping Benny’s trousers, unclipping his suspenders and pulling him out reverently leading him, guiding him, lining him up to his center, feeling Benny’s eyes passing over him darkly, hungrily and he presses in slow and relentless and good into Dean and Dean wipes the sweat from Benny’s brow and knocks his cap off, accidentally.

Benny’s body surges over him, breaching him and Dean cries out into Benny’s open mouth. Pleasure creeping up like black smoke in Dean’s belly, roiling. 

“Hot,” Benny mutters, “You’re so hot inside, fuck.” 

Dean’s hands crawl underneath Benny’s shirt, mapping him out, hand by hand, his legs curling over Benny’s waist, ankles hooked over the hollow of his back, beneath his coat. Dean’s existence reduced to the pain and pleasure of loss, of release. 

Dean’s eyes close against the wetness determined to spill into his hairline and his nails scratch and scratch at Benny’s skin, dig into the muscles of his back. Stretched close to breaking, Benny shushes him, framing his face, petting his hair. 

And Benny’s so deep and thick inside him that Dean’s body sings, suspended like a shadow above them, absolved by Benny’s words: _yes, anything_ and _it’s okay_ and _I’m still here. Don’t be sorry_. 

As the day breaks, Dean comes against their bellies, heat blooming like a flower between them, messy ribbons linking them together. 

Dean watches Benny fall apart, slitted eyes and wet mouth, coming and coming inside him, perhaps for the very last time.  And Dean feels cold and bare with it despite the smoldering ember pain deep inside. 

Dean holds on just a little longer, a little tighter and kisses Benny with a taste of forever and the promise of later.

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet owes it's title to the following song:
> 
> O' Sailor by Fiona Apple
> 
>  
> 
> Everything good, I deem too good to be true  
> Everything else is just a bore  
> Everything I have to look forward to  
> Has a pretty painful and very imposing before
> 
> And after waiting, fighting patiently on my knees  
> All the other stuff tired itself out first, not me  
> And in its wake, appeared the touch and call  
> Of a different breed  
> One who set to get me wise,   
> and got me there, and then, got me
> 
> And what a thing, to know what could be instead  
> Oh, what a blessed curse; to see  
> It took the agenda from its place in my bed  
> Made a merry paramour of me
> 
> O' Sailor, why'd you do it  
> What'd you do that for  
> Saying there's nothing to it  
> And then letting it go by the boards  
> O' sailor, why'd you do it  
> What'd you do that for  
> Giving me eyes to view it  
> As it goes by the boards


End file.
